Birthday Boy
by RochelleRene
Summary: Cuddy wants to get House a present for their first birthday as a couple.


"What do you want for your bir-" Cuddy began, but Wilson's hand clapped over her mouth suddenly.

House breathed a heavy sigh of relief across the cafeteria table. "I'm so glad you're here right now, Wilson."

Wilson leaned close to Cuddy's ear. "I'm going to take my hand off now. Do you promise not to say the 'B word'?" Cuddy nodded and Wilson dropped his hand. She gave them both dual glares.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?" she complained, wiping Wilson-ness from her cheeks.

"Look," House replied, leaning in and speaking in a hushed voice. "Since Cameron left I've managed to keep that day under wraps, and chitchatting about it in the cafeteria is going to unravel everything."

"Who the hell cares if people know?" Cuddy said.

"It's awful," House and Wilson said in unison, both holding their heads in recollected trauma.

House waved the floor to Wilson and continued eating his fries as Wilson turned to Cuddy. "When his team finds out it's his birthday, they get completely distracted by it. They can't focus on anything but how he is feeling, what he is doing, blah, blah, blah." House nodded in agreement. "And since they can't make any headway with _this _stubborn ass, they start coming to me." Wilson began acting out different scenarios, changing his voices to fit the different team members. "Should I get him a gift? I'm worried about him. He shouldn't be alone. What's he going to do? How old is he? And the dreaded… What should I get him?"

Cuddy looked back at House whose mouth was full. He simply widened his eyes, gestured at Wilson, and nodded. "Aw-fo" he said through mouthful of fries.

"Well, look, it's in less than two weeks," Cuddy said quietly. "We can't just ignore it."

"Yes, we can" they replied in unison.

Cuddy made a sad face and House took pity on her. "Cuddy, I am wealthy and particular. When I see something I want, I buy it. I don't need a gift."

Cuddy was stubborn though. "I am not going to ignore your b – your day."

House wiped his mouth on his sleeve and leaned across the table toward her. "All I want, Cuddy, is you – wearing nothing but thigh-high fishnets and a big red bow - with one hand cuffed to my headboard." They locked eyes and both began slow grins.

Wilson cleared his throat.

"What color fishnets?" Cuddy asked.

"Jesus!" Wilson exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"I so _not_ glad you're here right now, Wilson."

"You guys are gross," Wilson said, gathering his tray and standing.

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll use the word _gross_ when you write about this in your diary," House teased, but he was still leering at Cuddy, who started biting her lip when she felt him lean his leg against hers under the table. Wilson harrumphed to the trash can, but stopped back at the table on his way to the door.

"Can I just ask, why just one hand cuffed?" Cuddy and House, still staring at each other, broke into wide smiles and began shaking their heads.

"Amateur," Cuddy said, laughing a little.

Wilson sighed and stalked out, overhearing as he walked, "Black. I'm a traditionalist."

[H] [H] [H]

Wilson was at his desk the next day when Cuddy came in and dropped into one of his chairs. She gave him an apologetic look. Wilson dropped his pen in exasperation and leaned back in his chair. "And here we go," he proclaimed.

"I'm stumped, Wilson. Just help me talk it through."

"I'm no help!" he insisted."He's only kept, maybe three of the gifts I've ever gotten. Kept, mind you. I don't know if he even liked them, but at least they didn't get thrown into the garbage right in front of me."

"He's a regular guy, right?" Wilson gave her a look like she might have lost her marbles. "I mean, he likes video games, alcohol, porn…" She trailed off.

"Okay, Cuddy, then you have you answer."

"I don't want to get him video games, alcohol, or porn," she whined.

"What do you want, then?"

"I want to give him something special. Something he'll… treasure."

There was a long silence.

"I'd go find a big red bow," Wilson concluded. Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Look, you've known him forever. You know more about him than me, even. My advice is, stop trying to figure out what he wants and think about what he doesn't even know he wants."

Cuddy considered this. "What he doesn't even know he wants." She nodded. "Kay. Thanks. This helped." She got up, leaving a satisfied meddler behind.

[H] [H] [H]

A few days later House walked into Cuddy's office and she startled and shoved a bunch of papers in her drawer. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously.

Cuddy gave a feeble _What do you mean? _look.

"What was all that?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing," she said. House rolled his eyes. "It's a surprise."

"Cuddy, don't do this. I'm telling you. You'll be disappointed. We'll have a fight. No good can come of me and birthday presents."

"Give me a little credit, House. I've known you a long time. I think I have something you'll actually like."

House stared at her. "Do you know how hard it is to act pleased when you're not into something?"

"Um, I'm a woman." It took him a second. Then suddenly his face got all worried, almost panicked. Cuddy came out from behind the desk and hugged him. "Relax, cowboy. Not with you." He sighed, relieved and hugged her back. "At least not sexually," she added.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why did you come in here, House?"

"To tell you I need to do a brain biopsy on my patient."

Cuddy pulled back and looked up into his face, beaming. "I'm so happy you came to talk to me about this," she replied.

He smirked at her. "See, I physically can't even do that," he complained.

"You're gonna like it," she said, taking his file and going back to her desk to read it over before discussing gray matter.

House slumped, not so sure. "Just buy a bow, woman," he muttered.

[H] [H] [H]

Later that day, House barged into Wilson's office and dropped into the same chair. Wilson dropped his pen again. "I hate you guys," he sighed.

"Oh, like you have anything else going on," House sniped. "Without us you'd have been beating off to the same tired old fantasy this week instead of weighing the pros and cons of different handcuff configurations."

"What would I do without your drama as my aphrodisiac?"

"Much like you and the cuffs, she's gonna over think this thing," House complained.

"So what? This is not a plight, House. You don't even want a gift. You get one, you pretend you like it, and everyone is happy."

"I can't lie to Cuddy." Now Wilson gave _House_ a look like he'd lost his marbles. "I mean, I can lie about, like…" House waved his hand in the air aimlessly, "stuff. But not about this. She's gonna give it a bunch of thought, build it all up, and I'm never gonna give her the reaction she wants. Then poof… Bye-bye big red bow."

"I'd hate for you to have to go through that," Wilson said. House nodded, lost in a reverie of handcuffs and fishnets.

"I'm just scared she's gonna go off book. People should just buy me scotch. But they always try to get clever and guess something I don't even know I want."

There was a long silence.

"I don't think Cuddy would do that," Wilson said, sadly.

House sighed. "We have to role play 'joy-at-shitty-gifts' later," he warned Wilson. He stalked out as abruptly as he came in.

[H] [H] [H]

She convinced them to go out to dinner – House, Wilson, and herself – to at least acknowledge the day. They ate and drank and were generally pretty merry. House was relieved to see no ribbons or wrapping paper in sight. If he was gonna have to fake this, he sure as hell didn't want to do it with an audience.

Near dessert, Cuddy got a phone call. It seemed to be the babysitter and Rachel was sick. Cuddy hung up and looked despondent. "I gotta go," she said more to House than Wilson. "Rachel's puking." House nodded. "I'm sorry. I feel so bad. It's your birth-" House covered her mouth with his hand and laughed a little. He took his hand away and gave her a little kiss. "You should sleep at your place," she told him. "I'd feel even worse if you got sick." He nodded again. "But your bike's at the hospital…"

"Wilson will drive me. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, shrugging to show this was no big deal. It wasn't, right?

Cuddy leaned in and kissed him again. "Happy birthday, House," she whispered. He patted her ass as she turned to walk away from the table.

House and Wilson continued drinking and a beautiful woman at the bar kept eyeing the table. She was Wilson's type all the way - all doe-eyed and smiley. She finally came over and sat down next to him in the booth. House was amused. He interjected witty barbs into their drunken flirtation. Eventually the clock ran down and the place was closing. No one was in any position to drive, so they piled in a cab and dropped a solo House off at his building, leaving a giddy Wilson and the girl-who-fell-in-his-lap to share a taxi makeout session back to his place.

He wasn't sad really. Well, he was at his equilibrium, which hung around sub-level when he wasn't with Cuddy. So he wasn't daunted by a mopey bedtime, even on his birthday. He let himself in and tossed his coat on the chair. He was turning to head down the hall when he saw the box on his coffee table, complete with a big red bow.

His first reaction was happiness – she was sweet and thoughtful to have left this for him, even with Rachel sick, and the thought _did _count a little. But he was also nervous. Now not only did he have to have the right reaction, he had hours to analyze it into something bizarre and even further from what she wanted. He sighed and sat on his couch. He opened the card, which simply read _Happy birthday, for a man who thinks he has everything. _He untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside there was a thin file folder, the edges tattered and the contained papers yellowed with age. He turned it to read the name: Robert Johnson.

House literally gasped. Cuddy heard him from the bedroom, where she was waiting in the requested ensemble. She was so excited about her whole complicated plan, it was all she could do not to shout to him that she was in there. But she did her yoga breathing and tried to chill, to let him enjoy the gift.

Once she stopped second-guessing herself, after Wilson reminded her how well she knew the man, she'd been inspired. She'd remembered the story House had told her about the blues artist who had died under mysterious causes – with three different theories about his death. He'd died in the late 30s on a Mississippi plantation, but Cuddy knew that the doctors and coroners had to file records and death certificates, even back then, and even for disenfranchised black men. She knew the Dean of Medicine at Greenwood Leflore Hospital, so she made a call. If only he knew… It was one thing to get the record to make a few copies for no justifiable medical reason, but just as a personal favor. But Cuddy had painstakingly made copies of the few documents in it, tracing handwriting, smearing ink, and aging paper. A few documents even required the help of some professional counterfeiters. (Getting in touch with such nefarious folks had required an awkward phone call to Lucas, but he had obliged because, like the Dean of Medicine in Greenwood, everyone was a sucker for Cuddy.)

She'd sent the forgery back. House sat in his living room pouring over the real McCoy.

House was completely absorbed in the half dozen documents that noted anything about this blues legend. He looked at records of blood alcohol levels, bodily marks and lesions, and temperatures and breath sounds. He carried the file with him as he walked down the hall to pee. He didn't look up enough to even notice Cuddy sprawled on his bed and simply padded back to the living room to read more. He reached the last page – the official death certificate – and when he flipped past it there was something behind it in the file – a wide swatch of shiny bright red ribbon, thread through the hole of a tiny key.

House stood and walked slowly to the bedroom, in a daze. He appeared in the doorway and stepped into his own bedroom to find a gorgeous naked Cuddy, long legs clad in black fishnets, half handcuffed to his headboard and enribboned with stripes of red ribbon gathering into a jubilant bow right in the middle of her belly. Cuddy had been practicing every sexy facial expression she could think of for his discovery, but in the end, she just sucked in her lips, eyes wide in anticipation of his reaction.

House stared at her, his mouth actually agog. "Cuddy," was all he'd managed to say. He finally held the yellowed file up, "Is this…" He was actually a little choked up.

"It's real," she whispered, moving her eyebrows in a silly sneaky way. "But you can never tell."

He stood there still, looking at her, holding the file. She had never seen this expression on his face before.

"House, you do realize I'm naked and cuffed to your bed here, right?"

He blinked. He swallowed. "Believe me, everything below the waist is focused," he joked. "I just..." He shook his head. "I have never received a more amazing gift. Even gifts I bought myself." He laughed a little.

Now Cuddy felt a little choked up. And a little silly considering her current state.

"How did you do this?" he asked.

She shrugged and rolled to her side, pushing up on her shackled arm a little. "I just thought about what you love. Music. Medical mysteries. Misdemeanors. They added up to a great House gift. So I made some calls."

He smiled widely. "Thank you." He shook his head, moved.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Meh, you're faking it."

He laughed and pounced on her. He wrapped his arms around her and she wrapped her legs around him. "I can't believe you," he said before kissing her.

"When will you learn that I'm the exception to your every rule?" She pulled at the hair on the back of his head while they kissed.

He pulled back suddenly. "Is Rachel sick?" he asked.

She shook her head, smiling. Their lips reunited. Then he pulled back again.

"What if Wilson had come up?" he asked. She smiled and bit her lip. "That girl?" Cuddy shifted her gaze to the side, embarrassed. "Cuddy! You hired a hooker?"

"They might fall in love!" she said in mock defense.

"You thought of everything."

"I just figured out what I wanted and how to manipulate everyone around me into getting it. It's fun being you."

He laughed. "I know! I'm surprised more people don't attend my seminars." Then he sat up. "I'm going to unwrap you," he said, pulling one end of the ribbon. As he unwound it from around her belly, her legs, her arms, he kissed the trail where it had been. "How did you do this to yourself?" he asked at one point.

"I'm yogic."

"I knew that bullshit would come in handy at some point."

"Yeah, like it hasn't before," she winked.

He gathered the ribbon and threw it on the floor. He grabbed the handcuff chain and gave it a good tug. "So now you're mine all night, eh?"

It was an offhand joke that suddenly filled the room with all the things that could be said after it. Their eyes locked. "Thank you," he said again, pressing his forehead to hers.

Cuddy laughed. "For what?"

He didn't laugh. "For you."

They kissed and Cuddy ran her free hand up the back of his shirt, craving his skin. He sat up and yanked his shirt over his head, then lay on top of her again, the warmth of his body enveloping her. His mouth moved from her lips down her neck, making a path of warm, wet, scratchy sensations that was pure House. Cuddy arched up into his mouth as he kissed down her body. His tongue swept over her nipples and she felt a charge of lust shoot right to her core and she whimpered a little. He continued to kiss her breasts and his hand slid between her legs, teasing her mercilessly with an unfocused, meandering adolescent exploration of her heat. Her free hand found its way down to his and guided him to her clit. "It's my birthday, Cuddy. Don't be so bossy."

He kissed down her stomach and when she felt his tongue on her sex she cried out in relief. He moved his tongue around her, pushing her closer to climax, then backing off. She bucked up against him, feeling delicious frustration. She put her hand in his hair but he grabbed it and pinned it to the bed. Nonetheless, he focused in on her clit and she felt that wave of heat coming over her and had only gotten the "H'" of "Hooooouuuuuse" out when he stopped and began nuzzling her stomach, returning his attention to her breasts. She made actual crying sounds. Like the end of a tantrum.

She changed her tactic and began unbuttoning his jeans. House grabbed her hand and paused to smirk at her. "This is gonna be a nice, looong, birthday night," he teased. He reached for the file on the floor and stretched out next to her, jeans half open. He turned to her. "What do think of the chest rattle, Dr. Cuddy?" he said, opening the file.

Cuddy flipped herself onto him, House tossing the file just in time. "Ergo, the single cuff," he teased.

"Necessary for people with sexual ADD," she agreed, yanking his pants down.

Cuddy straddled him, but he had to shift them up and over, so as not to dislocate her arm. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

She rose over him and guided herself slowly down on him. They both moaned at her reciprocated torture. When he was fully inside her he murmured, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she murmured back.

"I think we're too polite for S&M," he observed.

"Can you shut up so we can fuck?" she asked, distracted from the wonderful sensations of moving around him.

"Better."

House held her hips, then slid his hands down her thighs. Cuddy was leaning back a little and still moving slowly, reveling in that feeling of him opening her up. He ran one hand down the beautiful length of her, throat to pussy. She was lost in her effort to get off and when he touched her clit she cried out "Yes!" with such zeal, he couldn't help but indulge her. After all, she wasn't going anywhere.

His hips rose to meet her and hands held her hips, thumb against her and getting her to orgasm in moments. He watched her moan and writhe on top of him, her one arm clanging the handcuffs as she crazily kept trying to bring her hand to her face. He stared at her breasts and wished he could see them and kiss them at the same time. Her muscles gradually released around him and he didn't wait for her to even open her eyes before he slammed her down on her back and pushed inside her again. He pushed her free hand against the bed, not sure why it was so erotic to pretend to hold captive the woman who, in reality, could ask him for anything. But the fantasy was mutual and Cuddy pushed up against his hand and seemed only to get wetter by her futile efforts to get away. She felt him push inside of her again and again and she wrapped her legs around him. House's hand released hers as he grabbed both thighs and pushed them back, reaching deep inside of her. She touched herself while he moved harder and faster. She heard his breaths turn to groans and his groans turn to silence. Then he gasped, "Cuddy," and she was right there with him. They fucked like porn stars while they came, moving selfishly and moaning dirty words. He fell onto her, his face on her breast. She ran her hand over the gentle rise and fall of his curved back. He caught his breath, then sat up and held her face, kissed her tenderly. He smiled at her.

"So which is it, doctor? What killed Robert Johnson?" she asked him. "Alcohol poisoning, syphilis, or pneumonia?"

House took a deep breath and looked in her eyes. "I think I gotta exhume his body."

Cuddy laughed loudly. "Maybe next year, House."


End file.
